


A bull, a horse, and a ram walk into a bar

by squeezedoutofmiracles



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Adultery, Beforus, Blow Jobs, Bulges and Nooks, Cuckolding, Drug Use, Dubious Consent, F/M, Language Barrier, M/M, Multi, Nook Eating, Orgasm Denial, Shotgunning Weed, Spitroasting, Threesome - F/M/M, Weed, hemocasteism, troll racism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-18
Updated: 2018-07-18
Packaged: 2019-06-12 15:12:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15342555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squeezedoutofmiracles/pseuds/squeezedoutofmiracles
Summary: "give me the fucked up dysfunctional angry threesome pls"





	A bull, a horse, and a ram walk into a bar

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Prim_the_Amazing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prim_the_Amazing/gifts).



Horuss glanced back over his shoulder through the polarised goggles one more time, as he made his way up the winding ladder-path to Rufioh’s hive in the treetops. No, nobody was following him, nobody was watching him, he was quite sure. Rufioh’s neigh-bours were out, that was why he had been invited round, Rufioh had messaged him letting him know that he had the canopy to himself, and would he like to come around for some private time, followed by a bull-horned winking face.

His goggles had nearly whistled, with the amount of steam produced by the liberal amount of sweat he was… secreting.

The trip up to the canopy always tittilated him, left him positively glistening, when the stairs creaked under the weight of a growing indigo, bigger and heavier than the trashbloods they were used to sporting. One time a rung had cracked, and he had been in floods of apologies by the time he had reached the top, when Rufioh had greeted him to see what the almighty crack had been. It had since been replaced, with a far more practical long term solution, a metal strut bolted into the tree side. It barely even groaned when he stepped over it, and now he had a mark on Rufioh’s hivestem. It was quite the commitment, and he grinned even wider every time he stepped over it.

The window of Rufioh’s hive stem was open, and thick white smoke curled slowly outwards. Horuss fought valiantly to keep his disapproval to himself, it wasn’t Rufioh’s fault that sometimes he fell prey to his more base vices, took part in lowblooded activities that others of his caste wouldn’t think twice on. Though Horuss found it silly. Their lives were short enough as is, why did they seek to make them shorter and more painful with those… jazz cigarettes? 

Tutting to himself, and fixing a wide smile on his face, he fished the spare key out of its hiding spot in the novelty swampdwelling beakbeast statue, humorously placed in the treetops where it would never naturally reside, slotted it into the lock, and turned.

It was, alarmingly, already unlocked. 

Horuss allowed himself a moment to frown, taking the key in his hand and pushing the door open, stepping into the atrium, which was also the entranceblock, utilityblock, and hostblock, and crossing to the stairs in a few strides. It wasn’t like Rufioh to leave the door unlocked. Of course, he was forgetful, he was absent minded, he was a rustblood after all and Horuss couldn’t expect too much from him, but he had a decent muscle memory, and he wouldn’t just leave his hive open, prone like an unguarded clutch of beastseeds.

Up the tight spiral stairs, the railing buckling under his grip as he hoisted himself up, shoulders having to turn sideways, yellow scuff marks marking the wall where Rufioh forgot to tilt his head just right, he burst out into the respiteblock (cum-attireblock-cum-craftblock-cum-workblock) and the smell of smoke was thicker here, hazing the air, enough that Horuss forgot himself and covered his mouth with his sleeve, scowling briefly behind his goggles as he fanned around his face with the hand that still held the key.

It dropped to the floor when he noticed the figure holding the joint between two rust-tipped fingers, where she had painted her nails the colour of her caste. Her horns curved towards him almost elegantly, and her deep red lips parted as she blew out a plume of smoke in his direction, running her tongue over her lips and leaning back on the couch, uncrossing her legs and letting them splay open.

“Damara.” He said stiffly, lowering his arm and looking across to Rufioh.

Rufioh had red lipstick smeared over his lips and throat, and he was breathing heavily. His vest had come off, somehow. What a shame. Maybe it was too hot in here.

She said something he couldn’t quite parse, though he caught the word for Hoofbeast, in her thick lowblooded drivel, and he looked instantly to Rufioh, who was chuckling uneasily.

“Haha… yeah, doll, I guess…” He rubbed at his neck. Over the lipstick. Smeared it up to his jawline, making his skin a deep red like he had been out in the sun for a moment, and got the fear of light seared into him properly. Horuss swallowed thickly, and a thin whistle of steam escaped from the vent pipe of his goggles, swallowed up immediately by the thicker white smoke from the joint Damara took another pull of.

She leaned over, placed a hand on Rufioh’s cheek, and breathed it out into his mouth. Horuss saw her tongue caress his lower lip as she pulled away, and Rufioh almost choked on it, throwing a panicked glance at Horuss, and trying to breathe it out through his nose, cool as a collagentuber. He choked on it, coughing, spluttering, and Damara sat back, chuckling, taking another drag on the joint and looking back over to Horuss.

Her skirt had hiked up, and he noticed a bruise on her thigh. He wondered, briefly, if she was still wearing panties or not. He mentally gagged, and turned that section of his pan off, hard.

“Your shirt fell off.” Horuss said, hand knotting at the hem of his jacket, palm sweating inside his glove. Damara smirked, and gave a throaty chuckle as Rufioh reached to press a hand to his chest, like he hadn’t realised he was half way naked.

“Oh, darn.” He said, touching his chest in a different spot, like it had moved. “Huh, I guess, I, uh. I. Yeah. Guess it did.”

Damara said something in a thick, revolting accent. Colour rose hard and fast in Rufioh’s cheeks, bronze flushing right to the tips of his ears, and Horuss heard the hem of his jacket rip where his hand tightened in it.

“I should leave you to it. This smoke is playing havoc with my hydraulics.” He remembered to grin again, sharply, and put it back up like a light snapping back on. Rufioh winced, reaching for his shirt, picking it up, putting it back down again, looking across to Damara, and making a helpless noise of indecision.

Damara said something else, and Horuss’ smile twitched violently.

Rufioh’s mouth stayed a little ways open, as he made a weak noise of protest, and looked back up to Horuss.

“I’m sorry, Medigo, I didn’t catch that.” He said, beaming. “Rufioh, what did she neigh?” 

“She, uh.” Rufioh licked his lips, and Damara licked hers, more slowly, sumptuously, eyes half lidded. “She asked. If you wanted to join. Rather than standing there.”

“Join what? I don’t smoke.” He said, still grinning, goggles glinting as he turned to look at Damara. 

She said something long, drawn out, and ended it with a high piercing giggle.

“Rufioh, what did-”

“Shoot, babe, I don’t even know-”

“Rufioh.” His voice was firmer, teeth gritted as he grinned. “Sweetherd. What did she say?”

“She asked if, uh. You’d ever stuck your, um. Hoofbeast-bulge in anything red before. An if you’d like to see what. Uh. What you’re missing.”

“See what’s BETTER THAN YOURS.” She said, finally. In a thick, awful accent. “See why he STRAYS yes?” She cackled, thighs falling further apart, setting a hand on one and gripping at the soft fullness there. More garbage spilled out her mouth.

“What you ain’t giving me.” Rufioh translated, without a fight.

Horuss swallowed firmly. Grinned again. Cheek twitching.

Damara reached over to Rufioh, set a hand on his thigh, right near the top of it, and squeezed slowly. Rufioh moaned sharply, caught off guard, as her palm slid to the front of his pants and stroked slow against his sheath through them, hot palm pressed against him. 

“Damara, doll, c’mon-”

“You liked before.” She said, grinning, turning her head so her painted red lips hovered, almost touching Rufioh’s. She held it there, a moment shy of Horuss breaking, and turned back to him, giving a last lingering squeeze and stepping up from the couch, pleats of her skirt falling in disarray as she sashayed up towards him, taking another drag on her joint and stopping close enough for him to touch. Close enough for him to smell the perfume she’d doused herself in before leaving the house, close enough to see the creases in her lipstick and the clumps of mascara on her thick lashes.

She breathed the smoke out in his face, and he breathed it in deep. Felt it burrowing into him. Felt it cloud his pan.

The next time she took a drag, she placed a hand on his chest. Slid it up to his shoulder as she lowered the joint, and found his ponytail. Wrapped it once, firmly, around her hand, and yanked him down.

Their lips crushed together as she exhaled, pressing it all down into his lungs, her hot tongue, hot as coals, hot as hell, stroked over his lower lip and she laughed right into his mouth when he coughed. She didn’t even have the decency to moan when he kissed her, hard lips pressed to the fullness of hers, stumbling forward when she yanked on his hair again, snarling against her lips and chasing her kiss when she pulled away, pulling him by his hair, over to the couch. 

She sat back down with a chuckle, pulling him sharply after her, hand still tight in his hair as she fell back to the couch with her thighs wide open, and he was yanked to his knees in front of her, hands thudding to the rough wood floor to catch himself. They sat over him, and from this angle the arch of her nose almost looked. Regal.

Reaching over to Rufioh, she slotted her hand around his jaw, fingers curling into the space in the hollows of his cheeks, when she pulled Horuss closer by his hair. She said something, incomprehensible and… foreign. And she moved Rufioh’s chin, making his jaw wag.

“She said. Put yourself to work, uh. Workhorse.”

Horuss almost snarled, as she hooked her pinky finger into the strap for his goggles and slid them up off his face, the tubes and wires dragging over his cheeks, and the room coming into unpleasant bright focus. 

Her fingers pressed to his cheek instead, stroking, trailing gently over his cheekbone, before slapping him firmly. She grinned from ear to ear, and pulled him by the ponytail, so his face planted firmly between his legs.

No, she wasn’t wearing panties.

His tongue pressed firmly against her, stroking up between the lips of her nook, and his very first thought was how she wasn’t all that much hotter than Rufioh. She tasted different, but he didn’t care enough to try and discern what it was, what she tasted like, if it was ceagers or copper or blood or cinnamon or something more poetic, it tasted like nook and he growled, low in the back of his throat as he went at it with an incensed determination.

She didn’t moan, but Rufioh did. She chuckled, loosening her grip on his hair, and the skirt that fanned over his head kept him from seeing it, but he could hear her kissing him. Hear him moan, as her hand doubtlessly went to unmentionable places.

 

He quite forgot himself, and sank his teeth into her thigh.

She hissed, her hand going vice-tight in his hair, yanking him back from under her skirt and pulling his head back, so his throat ached as it was forced on display, the collar of his coat digging in, choking him. 

Spitting something at him, in a harsh acidic language, she looked over to Rufioh with her lip curled. Rufioh’s entire bulge was out, and curling in her stilled hand, his pants yanked down to make room for it, as she touched him with brown pre-slime spilling from her fingers.

Rufioh swallowed, looking between them, and Horuss hissed a breath through gritted teeth.

“Control my, uh… pony?” He said, looking up to her as if for confirmation. She rolled her eyes, leaning back, and wrapping the ponytail freshly around her hand, and pulling his head back tighter. She repeated herself, and Rufioh looked down to Horuss, considering it.

“You good, babe?” Rufioh said, licking his lips, wings giving a strange flitter.

“Never better.” He gritted out, words constricted as the collar of his coat dug fiercely into his throat, pressing at his breathpipe and haemtubes.

Rufioh slithered from the couch, staggering slightly as he got to his feet and circled Horuss, getting behind him. He put a hand, haltingly, on his back, and patted him weakly. Damara tsk-ed, burying her fingers in Horuss’ hair, and pulling him closer to her waiting nook. 

Rufioh stroked down Horuss’ back, up his shoulder, and murmured something empty, something soothing, when he felt for the catches on Horuss’ coat and clicked them open. Damara’s fingers wound tightly into his hair, and she stared over him to Rufioh as he worked at the clasps on his coat, murmuring about how he was being a good boy. Horuss pressed back, despite himself, away from her hand and into his.

He felt when Rufioh’s bulge pressed to his ass, not just because he felt the shape of his bulge against him, or the warmth of it through his jodhpurs, but the way his hands stilled in their work. Stopped what she had told him to do, because he had done something better. He allowed himself a smirk, under the folds of her skirt, and pressed his mouth to his nook. Better, his rear. Of course she would think she was better, she was rustblooded. They were genetically programmed to think they were better and unfairly done by. 

His tongue stroked up the slit of her nook again, and he moaned against her when he felt Rufioh rock forwards to him, his fingers pressing at the final catch of Horuss’ coat, which fell open with a heavy shush of fabric on wood, and pressed his hands up under the back against cool flushed skin.

Horuss groaned against her nook, and she pulled him closer, when Rufioh’s hands wandered to his waist, over the thin skin of his ribs, burning hot and leaving tiny tingling trails as he mouthed slowly at Damara’s nook. She moaned, and he counted it as good progress, even when he smelled a fresh plume of smoke and realised she was smoking over him. 

It was quickly forgotten, when Rufioh’s hands strayed to the front of his pants, to the belt there, and he groaned again, arching his back and pressing his ass up against Rufioh with a hungry moan, eyes shutting and loose hair falling into his eyes. Damara corrected him with brutal efficiency, pulling him in tight, cutting off his moan with a sharp gasp as Rufioh fumbled for his belt and uncinched it, pulling his pants down sharply.

He could feel the warm humid air of the hive against bare skin, his knees hobbled together by his pants, and almost pulled away to complain when he felt two fingers stroke up the slit of his nook. He shuddered, whimpering, his mouth moving against Damara as he licked at her hungrily, deep heavy strokes as Rufioh trailed his fingers over Horuss, moaning softly behind him, slight wet noises letting Horuss know his hand was wrapped firmly round his bulge.

It pressed to Horuss’ nook, and he pressed back instantly. The warmth and size of it was familiar, the ache was good and known, and he pulled away no matter how Damara yanked at his hair, tossing his head back and gasping, one of Rufioh’s hands planting on his hip and pulling him back in the right rhythm, working him into the right speed and groaning softly behind him as Horuss took him all, right down to the hilt.

Damara’s bulge furled out, deep and red and thick, pierced near the base in a way that made Horuss clench up around Rufioh, drawing a throaty moan from him. It was fed between his lips with a coaxing croon and he took it, relaxing his jaw, and looking up to her. She grinned lazily, a joint hanging out of one hand, the other tangled up in Horuss’ hair, and fucked his mouth in slow easy thrusts.

He realised, very quickly, that she was most definitely living the life. Didn’t have time to dwell on it, though, not with Rufioh getting faster, getting impatient, pressing harder and deeper into Horuss with each rock, grunting something incomprehensible that had Damara laughing, and reaching to fumble Horuss’ ponytail out of her hand, yanking back on him. The pulls came in time with his thrusts, and Horuss groaned around the bulge in his mouth, as Damara grabbed him by the chin, her fingers pressing tight into his jaw, and her hips worked in languid pulses as Rufioh chased his finish, yanking on Horuss’ hair, sending a burn across his scalp and down his spine, panting how he was a good boy, such a good damned boy, so good for him, and Horuss felt his nook pulse around his bulge.

Damara groaned, and came into his mouth without warning. Rust dripped out the corners, and Horuss almost choked on it, swallowing a half mouthful and letting the rest spill onto the floorboards and the couch. It would stain. They’d have to move the couch over it, replace those cushions, raze the whole couch to the ground-

He moaned louder when Rufioh yanked hard on his hair, pulled his head right back, had him gasping to the ceiling as he thrusted hard into him and came, used him as his pail, no bucket to hand, pressing in up to the hilt and groaning slow as he finished, breath slowing, grip on his hair going slack.

Horuss whined, impatient, and reached between his legs to take care of his own finish, his bulge still trapped inside his sheath.

Damara was on the movement in a shot, grabbing his chin, shaking her head slow.

“No, no, hoofbeast. Only good ponies get to cum.”


End file.
